


Not Needed

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Case Fic, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair is depressed, feeling that nobody needs him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Needed

 

  
[Not Needed](viewstory.php?sid=1245) by [alyjude](viewuser.php?uid=14)

 

  
Summary: Blair is depressed, feeling that nobody needs him...  
Categories: [Slash](browse.php?type=categories&id=6) Characters:  Blair Sandburg, Jim Ellison, Naomi Sandburg, Original Female Character, Original Male Character, Simon Banks  
Warnings:  None  
Pairings:  Jim/Blair  
Other Fandoms:  None  
Challenges:  
Series: None  
Chapters:  1 Completed: Yes  
Word count: 18338 Read: 449  
Published: 03/07/11 Updated: 03/07/11

Chapter 1 by alyjude

Not Needed  
  
by alyjude

Blair Sandburg pushed open the door to 307, stepped in, went straight into his room and promptly collapsed, face down on his bed. His nerveless fingers let the dangling keys drop to the floor while he absently kicked off his shoes.

For several minutes there was only the sound of breathing. In - out, in - out. Then the body shifted and rolled over.

"Overqualified."

The blue eyes opened and seriously contemplated the ceiling overhead.

"Overqualified."

Well, yeah, that made sense. Masters in Anthropology might be considered somewhat overqualified for a clerk in a bookstore.

Not that anyone had actually come right out and said, "Sorry Mr. Sandburg, but you're overqualified." No, that had never been said. But he was very adept at reading between lines, at correctly reading body language...

"Mr. Sandburg, is this what you _really_ want?"

Meaning, _He'll be gone in two weeks._

"Mr. Sandburg, it says here on your application that you have a Master's Degree in Anthropology. Interesting." Followed by the raised eyebrow. Meaning, _I wonder just how many medications he's taking?_

Sandburg jerked up as he remembered the answering machine... messages, a job offer?

He scrambled out of bed and into the living room to stop in front of the phone. Yes, red, blinking light... messages, maybe a job. He punched 'replay'.

"Jimbo? It's me. Neil. Just got into town, be here a couple of days, thought we could hook up? I'm at the Connaught, call?"

"Blair? It's Suzie. Call."

"Sandburg, I'll be on stakeout tonight. Late. No, I don't need you."

_I don't need you._

Sandburg stared at the evil invention, resisting the urge to throw it across the room.

_I don't need you._

_Overqualified._

_Abiding Tolerance._

_I'm not ready to take that trip with you._

_Suspended._

_Trust._

_It's about friendship._

_I - don't - need - you._

Maybe he should stop resisting urges.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge all the negative thoughts. No, urges just got you into trouble. Or dead.

He shuffled back into his room, flopped onto the bed and once again contemplated the great mysteries of his ceiling.

_I don't need you._

He put his hands behind his head.

_I don't need you._

So? Who did?

Who needed what? A human needed food, water, shelter. Did he need more? Or _want_ more?

Did Blair Sandburg _need_ Jim Ellison's respect? Or _want_ it? Did he need the older man's friendship? Or want it? Did he need Jim's love? Or want it?

What Blair Sandburg _needed_ was a job. Now. Because he'd been suspended. Again.

And the suspension would end in his quitting his contract.

One more unauthorized absence. The straw. One more unauthorized absence _and_ no dissertation. Clear violation of his probation with the Dean. Candidacy for his Doctorate? Gone. With the wind. Reputation? Equally gone.

"I don't need you."

It was funny, really. How his mind worked. Not unlike conversations with Jim. Talking about everything _but_ what they should.

He was thinking about everything but...

_I don't need you._

It was a chorus in Blair's life. Said over and over again... in words, in action, in body language.

Blair swung his legs over the edge of the bed, dragged himself over to his desk, riffled through his books, papers and journals until he found what he was looking for -- his checkbook.

He opened it. No, it hadn't changed. No mysterious deposits. Man, he really needed a job.

The ringing phone didn't immediately penetrate, but his mother's voice did.

He made it to the phone in time to hear, "Blair, call me at 818-635-9087, please come... I need you," and the click telling him it was too late to pick up. She'd hung up.

 

*****

Sandburg was just exiting his room, baggage in hand, when Jim Ellison walked in.

Both men stopped and stared. And spoke at the same time.

"What's with the luggage?"

"What happened to the stakeout?"

They laughed uncomfortably and tried again.

"Cancelled."

"Emergency, Naomi."

Jim's face creased in concern as he dropped his key into the basket.

"What is it, Chief? Is she alright?"

"It's not her... it's her... boyfriend. He's dying."

Sandburg set his bag down next to the door, reached for his jacket and slipped it on.

"Shit, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

Blair shrugged, "Hell, I didn't even know she had a new boyfriend."

_Typical Naomi_ , Jim thought.

"Uh, how long... I mean..."

"A week, maybe a bit more. The number where I'll be staying is by the phone, if you... need m-- anything."

"Let me give you a lift to the airport, save you the parking fee."

"No need, called Airport Express, probably downstairs now."

Blair hefted his bag onto his shoulder and opened the door.

"Chief? Tell Naomi, well..."

"I know, Jim. Take care."

And Blair was gone.

And Jim was alone.

 

*****

The loft was dark and quiet.

_This is what it will be like when he leaves for good_

Jim stretched out on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He was almost daring himself to zone. Zone on the silence, meaning the absence of Sandburg. Zone on the darkness, again, meaning the absence of Sandburg.

But he didn't. Instead he wondered how and when his life had gotten so far out of his control.

He thought of the plane that was taking Sandburg to Naomi. According to the note by the phone, to Taos, New Mexico.

Weeks ago, months ago, he'd have been on that plane with Blair. No doubt. No questions. It would have been a given. No one would have had to ask, or offer. But Blair hadn't asked and he hadn't offered. Oh, he'd wanted to... wanted to accompany Blair... but there was this little matter of control, of his total lack thereof.

The fear that had been dominating his life in the last few months swam up through his subconscious, stuck around just long enough to blacken his thoughts, to challenge him...

"Name me... name me... name me..."

But he didn't dare. He pushed it back to the very darkest depths of his soul, and let his life continue its downward spiral, out of control, out of his hands.

 

*****

Blair's reflection stared back at him from the plane window. He didn't like the view. Hadn't liked that particular view for quite some time. He gazed down at the book in his lap, closed it with more force than intended and thought about his checkbook again.

A checkbook with a balance now considerably less than a few hours ago. Which was why he'd cancelled the airport shuttle minutes after booking the service. Shuttle simply was not in the budget... buses yes, shuttle no. And the idea of accepting a ride with Jim? Impossible. Just the thought of the trip to the airport, of the _not_ -talking talking... so he'd lied. Big deal. Blair Sandburg, king of the obfuscations.

He looked out the window again, past the reflection.

_I don't need you._

Why did that phrase have to keep coming back? Shit. So, Jim didn't need him. Hell, he was doing his best to get out... but unless he wanted to live in his car, well, he needed a goddamn job.

_I don't need you._

_But, Jim, I need you_

Man, that would surprise Naomi. Blair, _her_ son, needing anybody. But it didn't surprise him. Underneath the lone hippie routine was a surprisingly needy guy. A fact he kept well buried. Can't afford the chink. Can't afford to let others see too much. Because when they did, he inevitably found out how little of him others wanted.

His body -- yes. Hell, sometimes even his mind. But rarely did anyone want _him_. No one had ever bothered to get past his looks. No one. A good fuck. Nice to look at. Take the information and run. But he'd had his career. His life's work. And through that, he forced people to look at something other than his face.

So what exactly did that make him now?

Without his career, without Jim, what was he?

The pilot announced their landing and Blair pushed away the dark thoughts and concentrated on what he _could_ do... help his mother.

Naomi needed him.

 

*****

An hour later he stood outside the terminal looking for his ride. He hadn't expected Naomi, she'd be with Roger. But she'd told him someone would pick him up.

Apparently not.

He checked his wallet. Ten bucks. Okay, a taxi was out. Looked like his old standby, the bus, was his ride.

It took another fifteen minutes to find the bus schedules before he was finally on his way.

Forty minutes, two transfers and a two-mile hike from the highway later, he was walking up a dirt road to the 'McMillan Homestead'.

And what a homestead. Just the average, sprawling, umpteen-bedroom, equal number of bathrooms, New Mexico ranch house.

Blair couldn't suppress the low whistle as he gazed, open mouthed, at the place Naomi now called home. Not exactly the usual abode for his free-spirited mother.

He walked up to the front door, took a deep breath and rang the bell.

A pretty woman of about his age, small, slender, blonde and green-eyed, opened the door and at her first glimpse of him, her lovely smile hardened into a tight line.

"You must be _her_ son."

Cold water thrown directly into his face wouldn't have been as cruel.

"Blair Sandburg." He held out a hand but wasn't surprised when she ignored it, stepped back and grudgingly allowed him entrance.

"Manny, this is Naomi's son. Show him his room and let her know he's here."

Without another glance, she was gone.

'Manny' turned out to be the McMillan's version of a butler. He'd been standing just out of Blair's visual range but now stepped forward, a big smile on his face. He was in his late forties, about Jim's height, wearing jeans, denim shirt, leather vest and the required cowboy boots.

He pulled Blair's bag off his shoulder and headed down a hall to their left. Blair could only follow.

Outside, the temperature was in the nineties, but inside it was light and cool. The floors were deep red tiles, the walls a beautiful combination of whitewashed wood and stone. The furniture, what he could see of it, looked big and comfortable, colors in white and shades of beige, with accents in turquoise and jade.

The works of several famous southwestern artists graced the walls as well as several beautiful Navajo artifacts.

The overall effect was a cool, elegant simplicity. Blair was dutifully impressed.

Manny finally stopped in front of a massive, ornately-carved, whitewashed door, opened it and stepped aside, allowing Blair to enter.

The room was in keeping with the rest of the house, cool, elegant, southwestern.

A kingsized bed, draped with a beautifully crafted Indian quilt, took center stage. There were two whitewashed pine nightstands, one matching chest and armoire and a television cabinet.

The far wall was made up of windows with a slider to the left. The huge picture windows overlooked the grounds and pool. On either side of the windows were two huge wingchairs.

"I hope you'll be comfortable here, Mr..."

"Sandburg, Blair."

"Sorry, wasn't sure if the name... I mean..."

"I understand."

"Well, I'll let her know you're here; things are pretty informal around here, even at the best of times, but right now... just help yourself to anything you need, or give me a holler."

"Thank you... Manny. Uh, who, um, met me..."

"At the door? That was Delia. Your stepsister. Don't mind her behavior, she's under a lot of stress right now. She's a sweetheart, really."

"Of course. I understand." _Yeah, who needs common courtesy?_

Manny smiled his gratitude and left Blair alone.

_Stepsister?_

What the fuck _hadn't_ Naomi told him?

He spent the next several minutes unpacking and was contemplating the real need for a drink when there was a knock and his mother floated in, arms outstretched.

"Honey."

They hugged and Naomi finally held him away and looked at her son.

"Blair, you look wonderful. How was the flight?"

"How's Roger?"

She frowned and let her son lead her to the bed where he sat them both down.

"He probably won't last the week, honey. He doesn't... know any of us... he drifts in and out."

Blair looked carefully at his mother, noting her face as she spoke. She looked beautiful, of course. Her hair was longer than usual, and she was wearing makeup. She was dressed simply and comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt. And he didn't miss the large diamond ring on the finger of her left hand. The ring finger.

He reached down, picked up her left hand and ran a finger lightly over the gem.

"Nice."

"Roger gave it to me."

"Would that have been on your wedding day?"

"Now, honey, don't sound like that..."

Blair dropped the hand, got up, walked over to the picture window, and tried to rein in his emotions, slip the mask back into place, his 'Naomi' mask.

"Sorry. So, are you okay?"

"I'm holding on. I should fill you in on the household. You already met Manny, he's wonderful, Roger's best friend really, and he kind of runs things around the house. Then there's Delia..."

"We've met." His back was still to Naomi.

"Roger's daughter. She's your age, actually a little older, and there's Matt, her brother, he's thirty-five and... well, a jerk."

"Unlike Delia." No, the mask was still a little loose, but fortunately, Naomi hadn't noticed.

"And there's Kate, Matt's wife. She just drinks."

He bit back the 'oh, joy' remark.

"And finally, Joe Reynolds, Roger's lawyer and friend. He's okay, but he's certain I'm here for Roger's fortune."

"Unlike Delia, Matt and Kate?"

"Well, dear, it's only natural. But they have nothing to worry about. When I leave, I'll be taking this ring, my clothes and one portrait."

She got up then and walked over to the door.

"Honey, it's late, take a shower, get a bite to eat and I'll see you in the morning. I've got to get back to Roger."

Before he could offer to go with her, she'd slipped away and he was alone. Again. Naturally.

He'd better take that shower, before he actually started humming that damn song.

 

*****

Jim Ellison sat on the back of the bench, in Freeman Park. Okay, Blair had been gone two days. No phone calls. This was turning out to be a good practice run. For when the man left for good.

Ellison was busy. Getting work done. Being polite, friendly, helpful... and he was full of shit.

He was miserable. But he shouldn't be. Blair was just a guy now... a friend. Not his whole world. Not anymore.

_So why do you have to **prepare** for the day when he leaves? _

"How the Hell should I know?"

_Well, pardon me, but if you don't, who would?_

"Blair. Blair would know."

_Well, fuck, Ellison, there's your answer, why don't you ask him when he gets back?_

"Riiight. Now why didn't I think of that? I'll just ask Sandburg. Yeah."

_Hey, Chief, how was the trip? And do you have any idea why I'm scared shitless every time I think about the day you leave? Any idea, buddy?_

_What? I'll miss the mess? The incessant chatter? The non-stop flow of information, from a brain that remembers every piece of knowledge it **ever** heard or saw? Maybe it's the constant prodding I'll miss? Or the touching? Or the voice? Or the way you fall asleep at the kitchen table after pulling an all-nighter? Or the way you keep me from going crazy during a stakeout? Or the way you answer the phone? That drawn out, "helloooo", or the touching?_

So what if they'd been practically inseparable for three years? So what if he published the dissertation? He'd leave. Jim would have his life back. Life would go on SS. Sans Sandburg. It would.

 

*****

It was after one AM before Blair even tried to sleep. He lay in the all too familiar position of late, hands clasped behind his head and staring up at -- you guessed it -- the ceiling. But this was a new ceiling, so it was altogether possible that it actually held the secrets of the universe and perhaps of Blair Sandburg's life.

His stomach rumbled its dissatisfaction at the amount of food it _hadn't_ received in the last forty-eight hours, so Sandburg squelched it by rolling over onto his side, giving up his perusal of the ceiling and turning his attention to the large bay windows, hoping this view might lull him to sleep.

He could just see the lights of the McMillan pool through the trees and one lonely, lit room opposite. The house was designed in the shape of a horseshoe and Blair suspected he was looking at the lighted window of Roger McMillan's bedroom.

His _stepfather_.

His _dying_ stepfather.

He wondered if Naomi was sitting by his side, and if so, he would have liked to be with her.

Hold her.

And why not? He scrambled out of bed, slipped on his jeans and sweater, stepped into his loafers, left the large room and quietly moved through the house until he stood in front of the door he thought might be his mother's.

He was about to knock when the door was opened and he found himself staring up at a tall, hefty, dark-haired young man wearing white slacks and a white shirt.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for my -- Naomi."

"She went to bed."

"Oh, well, thank you."

He was turning to leave when the man, apparently the nurse, brushed his arm.

"Would you mind taking this tray to the kitchen? He hates clutter."

Blair turned back just in time to have a tray full of dirty dishes thrust into his arms. The door was then quietly and gently shut -- in his face.

_Well, **now** I'm glad I came._

He managed to juggle the tray _and_ find the kitchen, then make his way back to his room, where the exhaustion of the last several hours and days and weeks finally caught up with him and he slept.

 

*****

In the following forty-eight hours Blair discovered his purpose -- Keep the McMillan siblings away from Naomi.

He quickly found that the best way to let them focus their hatred was to allow them to focus it on the next best target -- him.

And what an easy target he provided. Between his hair length, the earrings, his upbringing and his 'bastard' state, well, the McMillans had a real field day. Two field days, actually.

They never let an opportunity slip by that they didn't relish pointing out his many shortcomings. All that they had -- and he didn't. All that they were -- and he wasn't. Of course, a few months ago their words would have rolled off him like water from a duck's back. He would have responded with some intellectual claptrap that would have silenced them permanently. But now? His sense of self-worth was at an all-time low, even for him, so each barb, each quip, every attack, found its mark.

Naturally the McMillans never saw any evidence of success; after all, Blair could still obfuscate with the best of them.

So for two days the war raged and Naomi was left in peace with her dying husband.

But late Thursday, Naomi faced Delia and Matt and urged them to stay with her by Roger's bedside. She _felt_ that he would be leaving them that night.

Delia just scoffed, and Matt followed his sister's lead. Blair offered to stay, but Naomi insisted that he get some rest, that she would call if anything happened, and that she was, probably, being overly sensitive.

She wasn't. And she didn't call.

At two-thirty-three AM -- Roger McMillan died.

The Taos Tribune would report that Roger McMillan, aged fifty-eight, owner of the McMillan Ranch, passed away at his home on May 20th, 1999, at two thirty. They further reported that he was survived by his wife of eight months, Naomi Sandburg McMillan, aged forty-seven, his son, Matthew, aged thirty-five, his daughter, Delia McMillan, aged twenty-nine and one daughter-in-law, Katherine McMillan, aged thirty-three. There was no mention of his never seen 'stepson', Blair Sandburg, aged twenty-nine.

 

*****

The house was quiet, in mourning. Delia had not come out of her room since hearing of her father's death, Matt sat alone, in the family room, drinking and Kate was nowhere to be found.

Naomi had been on the phone most of the morning, as had Manny, making all the calls that death necessitated. Joe Reynolds, who had returned to Taos the morning of Blair's arrival, showed up at ten thirty and promptly took over Roger's study, presumably busy making 'lawyer'-type calls.

And the 'infamous' stepson? He sat outside, by the pool and seriously considered getting shit-faced drunk.

Blair was just about to make his decision with regards to getting shit-faced, when Kate showed up, walking rather unsteadily, giving him her best 'snooty nose in the air' look and continuing her drunken gait into the house.

At the same time, Blair spotted his mother through the large windows, as she entered the living room. She saw Blair and waved him inside.

He pushed himself out of the patio chair, walked over to the slider and let himself in.

"Honey, over here." She patted the space next to her on the couch.

He sat, watching her carefully, noticing the dark circles, pinched mouth and red-rimmed eyes. Maybe, just maybe, he could finally help her, be of some use.

"Blair, honey, you might as well go back to Cascade. I had Manny book you on the six o'clock flight."

Okay, not exactly what he'd been thinking.

Total emptiness seemed to hit him... a blackness threatening to engulf his soul.

He quickly got up and began to pace. "Mom, I can... stay, no problem, there's no... nothing to keep..."

"Honey, it's not necessary. I'm not even staying. But thank you for coming, I really needed a friendly face this last week."

_A friendly face -- not a son, a friendly face._

"To act as a buffer." His tone was flat, emotionless.

"Well, yes, I'm sure it's been obvious that there is no love lost between Roger's children and me. Your being here, well, I couldn't have handled the fights."

And Blair did understand. Too well. He stopped behind the couch, one hand on his mother's shoulder.

"What about the funeral? It would be no problem..."

"Honey, _I'm_ not staying for the service. My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. Roger and I said our goodbyes weeks ago. This travesty of a memorial is for _them_ , not Roger. He hated the very idea."

"I see. Well, why don't you come back with me?" Blair was hanging on, hoping... "We can spend time together, you can tell me about Ro--"

"Thank you sweetie, but I'm going to lose myself for awhile -- I'm meeting some friends in Sri Lanka, and besides, I know how busy you are..."

And all hope died.

It was clear Blair was not a part of this. But maybe he could go with her... lose _himself_ for awhile?

He was just about to suggest this very idea, to tell his mother everything, when Naomi said, "Joe."

And Joe Reynolds joined them.

He was clearly a successful lawyer. He was about fifty, maybe a bit taller than Blair, and in the kind of shape _only_ the wealthy seem able to attain. Thick, dark hair, fashionably-styled and just greying at the temples, framed a strong, handsome and determined face. He was casually dressed, but Blair doubted that he would ever be able to afford even one of Reynold's 'casual' Gucci loafers.

The lawyer moved to stand in front of Naomi, and gently took one hand in his well-manicured one.

"Naomi, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I understand your desire to leave quickly, but I must ask that you stay, at least until the will is read." His eyes flicked up to Blair, who was still standing behind his mother.

Naomi gently extricated her hand and stood.

"Joe, I've no interest in the will and see no reason for changing my plans."

"Maybe not, but well, it's important that _both_ you and your..." he paused, looked at Blair again, then continued, "son, stay. If it would make it easier, we could have the reading tonight."

"Impossible. Blair's flight leaves at six. So unless you plan on reading this will in the next half-hour?"

They stood, eye to eye, and for a moment Blair actually pitied the lawyer. He didn't have a chance against Naomi.

Reynolds must have come to the same conclusion because he gave a shrug, then gave her his most winning smile.

"Very well, the reading will be at..." he looked at his very expensive Paget watch, "...two-thirty. I'll get everyone together."

And with those surprising words he hurried out of the room, leaving one stunned McMillan and one stunned Sandburg, mouths agape.

Blair recovered first. "Mom?"

She blinked twice and focused on her son and wearily sunk back down. "Roger wouldn't have. He promised. Oh, God, he promised..."

"Mom?" Blair moved back around and took his place next to her. "Mom? He promised what?"

"Oh, Blair, Roger promised he wouldn't put me in his will, other than to leave me the portrait of him I had commissioned. He promised." Her eyes began to fill with tears.

"Maybe... he didn't. Maybe it's -- just a formality, having the whole family there... I mean, if he said he wouldn't, then he wouldn't, right?"

But Naomi couldn't answer, the tears becoming sobs. Carefully, he reached out and gently pulled his mother into his arms. Holding her close, stroking her hair, he let her sob...

 

*****

It was precisely two-thirty, and Joe Reynolds stood in front of the massive, stone fireplace, a television remote in one hand.

Delia McMillan, looking drawn and tired, wearing a bulky red sweater and black spandex slacks, sat in a large wingchair to the right of the lawyer. Her blonde hair was pulled back and she wore a large pair of sunglasses.

Matt, in sweats, hair untidy, face unshaven, sat at the bar, while Kate, who looked like a svelte but tipsy Vogue model, sat at his side. Both husband and wife had drinks in their hands.

Manny lounged by the entranceway, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and around the perimeter of the family room stood the McMillan employees.

Naomi sat, still and straight, in the wingchair opposite Delia, Blair standing unobtrusively behind her.

Blair felt that he'd suddenly entered the production of a 'B-movie'.

Seedy lawyer, (okay, rich, seedy lawyer), greedy children, suspicious employees, the famous will, the interloping new wife... and the feeling was reinforced when the male nurse that Blair had met his first night, sauntered in and leaned against the bar, trying to get Kate's attention, his attraction as painfully obvious as her apparent disinterest.

Joe Reynolds cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him.

"Thank you all for rearranging your schedules. It was Roger's desire that everyone be present during the discussion of his last will and testament." All eyes shifted to the interloping wife and the young man behind her.

"Roger did a video-will seven weeks ago, just after receiving the diagnosis from his doctor."

Matt jumped to his feet, his face red and blotchy.

"He never said anything about a new will! This is preposterous, he hasn't touched it in over fifteen years!" Matt yelled, a touch of hysteria coloring his anger. Kate had her hand on his arm, tugging, trying to pull him back down.

"Shut the fuck up, Matt. Let Joe play the tape." It was Delia who spoke, her voice low but firm. Matt sputtered a bit but, as usual, obeyed his sister.

"Matt, Delia, it's not unusual for someone who knows they are dying to modify their will And it's certainly not unusual if there has been... a change... in that person's life." Reynolds did a fine job of _not_ looking directly at Naomi.

Delia sat forward. "Just the show the damn tape, Joe."

The lawyer nodded, aimed the remote at the painting behind him, and the artwork slid up to reveal a large television screen. Blair wasn't a bit surprised. The 'B-movie' just kept getting better.

Reynolds hit another button, the TV flicked on, a face appeared on the screen, Naomi's breath caught and Blair knew he was looking at his 'stepfather'.

Roger McMillan was a handsome man and it was obvious to Blair that Delia took after him. They both had the same green eyes, the same blonde hair, although Roger's was now more white than blonde.

The face on the screen was a good face, an 'outdoor' face, tan and weathered. The man looking out at them knew he was dying, but there was no sign of that knowledge in the expression, no evidence of anger or self-pity in his demeanor, only a sense of deep calm.

Roger McMillan smiled and Blair heard his stepfather's voice for the first and last time.

"We all know what it means if you're watching this tape and I'm sorry -- trust me on this, I am sorry. This is not my choice. I do not leave you by choice. And Delia, stop shaking your head. I know you believe I had a choice, but you're wrong, sweetheart. A prolonged death would have been too painful for those I love. But this is about my will, my last will, so let's get to it. Yes, I made a new will, but Delia, Matt, understand this, there is _no_ change to what was originally left to either of you. None."

Matt visibly relaxed at those words, as did Naomi.

The voice went on, and Blair found himself fascinated by the man. And dearly wishing he'd had the chance to know him. But his luck in the father department seemed doomed.

For the next several minutes everyone listened as employees were rewarded for years of service, as charities were included in gift giving, and as Manny received a sum of fifty thousand dollars and a piece of property called 'The Meadow', to approving nods all around.

But finally, Roger McMillan got to his immediate family.

"To my daughter, Delia, I leave the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars and an equal sum I leave to my son, Matthew. To my beloved wife, Naomi, I leave, at her request, the portrait now hanging in our bedroom, though God knows why she'd want a picture of this old cowboy." This solicited a gentle and genuine laugh from Naomi, which ended as the voice continued, "And finally, the McMillan Ranch. It is of my home that I have been most worried as I move closer to my death, of the land and its future. Delia, Matt, I _know_ this land does not mean to you what it has always meant to me; neither of you have ever wanted to work this land, to nourish this land. I realized months ago that if I left this home and the surrounding acreage to either or both of you, that it would be sold as quickly as possible, without regard for its future or the environment. I can't let that happen."

The man on the screen paused and everyone held their collective breaths...

"So, to my stepson, Blair Jacob Sandburg, I leave the place known as 'McMillan Ranch'."

The rest of the tape was lost as the room erupted in startled exclamations and angry outbursts, with none louder than Naomi Sandburg McMillan.

For Blair, he just had the feeling that the 'B-movie' was a comedy. Of errors.

 

*****

**Four days later**

"Damn."

The elevator was down again, which meant a climb he was in no mood to make. It was amazing how tired he was, when he should have been fine. It had been quiet for the last few days, nothing much happening in the city with one of the highest crime rates. So why was he exhausted?

Because without Sandburg, he wasn't sleeping. Tossing, yes, turning, yes -- sleeping, no.

As he trudged up the final few steps, he heard the phone. He picked up the pace, hoping it was his partner. As he got to the door, he heard Naomi's voice on the answering machine and ran the last few steps pushed the key in the door and ran to the phone.

_"Jim? Jim? Please, if you're there, pick up. It's important."_

"Naomi? I'm here. What's wrong? Is it Blair?"

" _Oh, thank God... Jim, please come, I think someone's trying to kill him. Please? Will you come?"_

"Calm down, Naomi, of course I'll come, just tell me what's going on."

_"Didn't you hear me? Someone is trying to kill my son!"_

"Yes, I heard you, someone's trying to kill Blair. Where is he now?"

_"In his room. Asleep. The doctor said he has a mild concussion. He had his seatbelt on when the car went into the ditch, but his body was thrown sideways, into the door and he hit his head on the window. He shouldn't have been driving anyway, he still wasn't moving well enough after the riding accident."_

Jim's hand clenched hard around the receiver. Between hearing about a car accident _and_ a riding accident, and hearing it from Naomi, Jim was doing well by not giving into the urge to shoot the phone. If he hadn't heard the real urgency in Naomi's voice, this whole thing would have been almost laughable.

"Naomi, listen to me. Is there anyone there you really trust?"

_"Yes, Manny. I trust Manny."_

"With your son's life?"

There was a pause and Jim could almost see her, biting her lower lip... _"Yes. Roger trusted him. I trust him. With my son's life."_

Roger McMillan. Shit, he'd almost forgotten.

"Naomi, how is..."

_"He died, Jim. Four days ago."_

"I'm sorry."

_"Thank you. Now what about Manny?"_

"I want one of you with Blair at all times, until I get there. Understood? At - all - times."

_"I'll go get him now. And Jim? Thank you."_

"I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight out."

_"Call me back with the flight schedule and I'll have someone meet you."_

"That won't be necessary, just give me directions and I'll rent a car."

For the next few minutes, Jim took down directions, made his flight arrangements and called Simon, who didn't seem in the least bit surprised that Jim was going to Taos, or that Blair was in trouble. His only comment was something to the effect that he'd wondered how long before Jim flew to Taos and he seemed disgusted that it had taken this long.

Two hours later, Jim was sitting in coach, on his way to New Mexico.

Not unlike Blair, days earlier, the detective caught his reflection in the window and scowled. His thoughts were dark and one thought in particular seemed to be taking center stage. Fear.

It seemed to be his constant companion lately. Fear so strong that Ellison was often left nearly paralyzed. The fear seemed to have so many roots, and they curled around his mind, his soul and squeezed.

Most of the roots were identifiable, like now. His fear for Blair. For his partner's safety. But a couple were so tainted, so despicable, that Ellison couldn't or wouldn't look at them. Or give them a name.

But they were there. And they colored his life, his words and his actions.

Ellison knew that something was still wrong between him and Sandburg. Their friendship was strained, and he found himself getting impatient with the younger man, hurting him with words, hurting by withdrawing. But that un-named fear goaded him on... his control slipping, his life spiraling out of reach.

Part of him wanted to dig deep, find that fear, name it and destroy it. But another part of him, a stronger part, wanted it pushed down, down so deep that it would never be touched by the light of day. It was too ugly.

Wearily, Ellison let his head drop against the airline seat. This business of keeping ugly secrets was damn tiring.

 

*****

Two hours later, following Naomi's directions, Jim turned right, onto the same dirt road that Blair had walked down a few days earlier.

The McMillan home had been visible to the Sentinel for the last few miles, and he was worried. It was late but the house was lit up like a Christmas tree.

He pulled the rented Taurus alongside the front of the house and was just shutting down when the front door opened and Naomi stepped out onto the brightly lit porch.

He climbed out of the car, reached back, grabbed his bag and moved toward Blair's mother, questions in his eyes, worry creasing his forehead.

Naomi held out her arms as Jim approached.

"Jim! I'm so glad you came." Then her arms were around him and she was whispering into his ear. "Please, Jim, go along with whatever I say, please."

She was pulling him inside, into a large foyer, where four people stood, curious about this new stranger.

"Delia, Matt, this is Jim Ellison, Blair's... life partner. Jim, this is my stepdaughter, Delia McMillan, my stepson, Matthew McMillan, his wife Kate and Roger's friend and lawyer, Joe Reynolds."

Somehow Jim managed to keep a straight face at Naomi's 'obfuscation', and he now knew where Blair had picked up the habit. He found himself shaking hands, matching faces with names and wanting nothing more than to go immediately to Blair.

Footsteps from behind announced the man he wanted to see. He turned and got his first look at Blair in over a week. And what he saw chilled him to the bone.

Blair wasn't alone. A taller, older man that Jim assumed must be Manny, was walking alongside Blair, looking as if he were ready to catch the younger man if he fell.

Blair was limping, he'd lost too much weight, the left side of his face was bruised and swollen and his right arm was bandaged, but purple bruises could still be seen, all up and down the arm.

Jim belatedly remembered his 'role' and stepped forward to greet his 'life partner'. And immediately realized that Sandburg was going to say something in surprise, so Jim snaked his arm around Blair's waist, pulled him in close, lowered his head and dropped the kind of kiss a life partner, significant other, longtime companion or lover would give his much loved and injured partner that he hadn't seen in days.

He leaned back and scrutinized Sandburg's face, bringing the other arm up to let his hand brush a bruised jaw, then gently tilt the head to the side.

"That's quite a shiner you've got there, Chief."

Somehow Jim made the word 'Chief' sound like the sexiest endearment ever uttered. So it was very fortunate that his very large, well-muscled back hid Blair from the view of the others. But Jim could see the wide eyes, the complete surprise and the dismay. And something else?

"Blair, honey, I've made all the introductions, it's late, and the doctor said you were supposed to be in bed. Jim must be tired after his long flight, why don't you show him to your room and you both get a good night's sleep?"

Blair tore his gaze away from the man 'pretending' to be Jim Ellison and took a half-step to the side to peek around the fake Jim and give his mother his best evil eye. But before he could give the look his best shot, Jim had him by the arm and was moving him gently back.

"Show me our room, Chief. Your mother's right, you look like shit, I'm exhausted, and we should both be in bed."

And damn if the fake Jim didn't stress the word 'bed'.

Jim kept nudging him along the hall while his mother and Manny just stood there smiling. Delia, on the other hand, looked as though she couldn't have cared less, Matt was dumbfounded and Kate was clearly disgusted.

Blair finally shrugged and stopped fighting Jim's nudges. He was tired and he did hurt. He said a pointed goodnight to only Manny and led Jim down the hall to _their_ room. And _their_ bed.

 

*****

"Naomi shouldn't have called you, Jim."

The detective dropped his bag on the kingsized bed and turned to face his partner.

"This call was preferable to a call telling me you'd been killed. But you're right, _Naomi_ shouldn't have made the call, _you_ should."

He turned back to the bed and began to unpack, but as a Sentinel, he was very aware of the fast breathing that told him Blair was angry.

Sandburg started to count to ten, but before he reached the number six, a wave of dizziness hit him. He just managed a casual 'limp' over to the bed to sit down before he really disgraced himself. Jim pretended not to notice and kept on unpacking.

"I brought you some extra clothes, figured you'd need them by now."

Blair looked up as Jim walked back from the dresser. The man was actually putting stuff away! Shirts, jeans, socks, hell, he probably had a different pair for each planned day, probably two or three! Not that there wasn't plenty of room for the man's clothing. Blair's stuff, which consisted of just two pairs of jeans, two pullover shirts, one sweater and one jacket, was dumped, draped or unceremoniously balled up on the chair, the bed or the floor and his underwear was still in his backpack.

Jim reached back into his bag and pulled out some items Blair immediately recognized as his own. He started to grab them, but Jim was already putting them in a neighboring drawer. He then folded his garment bag, stuck it in the closet and proceeded to take Blair's other clothing and put it away! The man was a menace.

Several minutes later, feeling satisfied with his work, Jim sat down on one of the chairs in the corner, crossed his arms, cocked his head, raised an eyebrow and waited.

Blair was feeling like his body was being used as a set of drums and definitely didn't want to talk, but Jim's body language said he'd better. Fine. Blair could be brief. Three years with Jim had taught him that. He took a deep breath and began.

"Mom met Roger McMillan ten months ago. Nine months ago they got married. No, she didn't tell me. So what. Eight weeks ago, he was diagnosed with liver cancer. It had already spread. Inoperable. Doctors didn't have much hope about chemo or radiation. Roger opted to skip them. Three weeks ago, he asked his... children... to come. They -- did. They don't like Naomi. She isn't 'one of them', she's different. She knew this, knew it would make the last days... difficult, so she -- called... me."

Jim wanted to interrupt. Blair's heart had started beating double-time, but the older man knew Blair had to say this his way, so he wisely kept quiet.

"Roger made a new will and taped it a few weeks before his death. We viewed it six days ago. He left money to his friends, his employees, charities, to his kids and he left a portrait to Naomi. He left his ranch and all his holdings to his -- _stepson_. The funeral was Saturday. No, I never met him. Never saw him.

"I fell off a horse on Monday and cracked up one of the McMillan cars, a jag, on Tuesday. End of story."

Blair wound down, reached for the pillows, bunched them up behind him and carefully pulled his legs onto the bed, sat back, crossed _his_ arms, cocked _his_ head, raised _his_ eyebrow and waited.

There was a great deal Jim would have liked to say, because of all that Blair _hadn't_ said, but he recognized the signs that signaled 'rapids ahead' and decided to take the same road as Sandburg. Brief and to the point.

"How did you fall off the horse? You ride very well."

"The cinch broke."

"I can take a look at it tomorrow? It hasn't been repaired?"

"You can look at it. It's in the tack room. Manny wouldn't let anyone but a guy named Sergio look at it and he's in Mexico right now, visiting a sick relative."

"Fine. And the car?"

"Brakes failed. I was running an errand, car was demolished. Not available, already at a shop in town, being repaired."

When Blair had said, 'demolished', Jim's stomach gave a lurch, and hit the floor. But outwardly he just raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Seatbelt. Airbag. In fact, most of the damage you see was as a result of the steering wheel casing flying apart when the airbag deployed. I managed to crawl out. It pays to be short. The limp is a result of the fall. I felt the cinch give way and prepared myself. I landed on my left hip. Bruised."

As Blair recited the information, Jim became increasingly disturbed. The man's voice, the tone, was so flat -- no emotion, no body movement, no waving of his hands. This was not his partner.

"Why would Naomi think someone wants to kill you?"

"I'm annoying as hell?"

Jim should have been warned by a repeat of the toneless voice, but he wasn't. He was too glad to hear a quip. He thought Blair's sense of humor was returning so he snipped back an answer. "That you are, Sandburg. But we've never wanted to kill you."

"I doubt Simon would agree with that."

Blair was resting back against the pillows, eyes closed, but Jim's senses told him that while exhausted, Blair was far from relaxed.

"Let's get to questions at hand. I can see why someone would want to kill this stepson, he inherits everything. But why you?"

Blair's eyes opened. "Jim, _I'm_ the stepson."

"Roger McMillan left his ranch to you? Someone he'd never met?"

"Someone he evidently didn't care to meet."

It was said so low that even Jim had to strain to catch the words.

_Shit,_ he thought, _This just keeps getting worse._ "Do you know why he left it to you?"

Blair had closed his eyes again, but he answered. "According to Naomi, the ranch was not part of his original will. A will he made years ago when his wife died. He was afraid that Delia and Matt would sell it off to developers. I think he wanted to leave it to Naomi, but she'd made him promise to leave her nothing but a portrait. So, he did the next best thing. Left it to a complete stranger."

"The offspring need money?"

"Offspring of the rich always need money. Delia and Matt both have trust-funds from their mother, who was wealthy in her own right and Roger left them each two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Based on that, people would assume that they didn't need more."

"What's the value of the ranch?"

"On it's own, as a working ranch, about two million. As property to be developed, McMillan was recently offered over eight million, but he could have developed it himself and eventually netted twice that."

Jim gave an appreciative whistle. "Lucky me. I've got a millionaire for a life partner."

"Nope. Pre-Nuptial."

"Damn. So I've got to keep working?"

"Lifestyles of the rich and their Sentinels."

The banter was there, but it was forced, lacking in heart.

"You're wasted, Chief. Why don't we pick this up in the morning?"

Tired eyes blinked at him as Blair motioned with his hand.

"What about this? Naomi's little stunt?"

"I don't have a problem with it. She obviously didn't want anyone knowing that I'm a 'pig', and it's a kingsized bed. We've slept in tighter quarters than this."

Sandburg seemed to consider Jim's words as he watched him through hooded eyes. "Fine. You can have the bathroom first."

Jim nodded, grabbed his shaving kit and disappeared behind what had to be the bathroom door.

And Blair waited. He didn't have long to wait. Even he could hear the cat whistle. A moment later the detective's head popped out from behind the door. "Chief? We're keeping the bathroom."

The door shut again and Blair found himself smiling for the first time in weeks.

*****

Oh, yeah, this bathroom was a keeper. Robin Leach would be proud to showcase it... proud to use it.

Jim looked around again, amazed at its size, at the sunken tub and small, discreet waterfall and the huge, glass enclosed shower, which all by itself was the size of their bathroom back home.

_God, Sandburg owns this. Damn good motive for murder._ But not on his watch. There would be no more accidents. Period.

When he came out of the bathroom several minutes later, he found the 'owner' already undressed, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring out the bay window.

"Chief, you okay?"

Blair showed no sign of having heard the detective and he was about to repeat his question when Blair spoke. "That's his... mom's room."

Jim followed his partner's gaze to the one lit room visible through the trees. "I'm sorry, Chief." It was all he could say, but he doubted that it was enough.

Sandburg's head twisted around and the younger man stared at Jim, a frown creasing his forehead. "Why should you be sorry, Jim? You didn't know him either."

Ellison walked over to the bed and sat down next to Blair, searching for the right words, the words that would tell Blair that he understood.

"I guess that's why I'm sorry. Because you didn't have the chance, because you weren't told..."

Abruptly Sandburg stood and immediately lost his balance as he put his weight down on his left leg. He teetered for a moment but Jim's hands were there, and he was instantly anchored as Jim gently guided him back down.

"I shouldn't have said anything, Chief. It... isn't my place to make judgments here."

Neither man seemed to be aware that Jim's arms were still around Sandburg, or that Blair had settled into them.

"Oh, I don't know... you are my penniless significant other."

"'Life partner'."

The dark fear that had been twisting Ellison's insides chose that time to resurface. But his concern for Blair drove it back. He concentrated on Blair's heartbeat, on the feel of him.

And the fear became reality. He could see it, turn it over. He recognized it. And it had a name.

Dissertation.

And it had consequences.

People would _know_ what he was. That he was a freak.

And Blair would be published.

And leave.

People would know he was a freak and Blair would leave him and he would be alone.

Alone.

Jim Ellison saw a replay of the last several months, saw his actions, pushing Blair away, because after all, wasn't he going to leave eventually? Shouldn't the detective start shoring up the walls? Preparing himself for being alone? And if by his actions, he actually drove Blair away, that Blair left sooner than later, wasn't that a good thing? For Jim? Safer for Jim Ellison?

Except... With the name for his fear came clarity. And memories. No -- _one_ memory. Of the last time Jim pushed Blair away.

And the consequence.

Sandburg face down in a fountain. Sandburg dead.

A voice echoed in Jim's mind at that moment. A voice he recognized and he involuntarily tightened his hold around his partner... and listened to Gabe.

_"What does it take, Sentinel? To learn? To understand? Will you now listen to the whispering heart?"_

The final truth. Illuminated by Gabe's words.

"Yes," he whispered.

 

*****

"Jim?"

His name, spoken so quietly, reached the Sentinel and he allowed his eyes, which had been unseeing to focus on Blair, to actually _see_ the man he held in his arms. To see _inside_ the man, feeling the 'aloneness' of Blair's world. Knowing that _he_ was much of the infinite sadness of Blair Sandburg. He could sense every wound he'd inflicted, the pain of the ultimate rejection he'd imposed on Sandburg all those months ago, in the hospital, when he'd told Blair he wasn't ready to take that trip with him.

Was it too late? Because he was ready now.

"You would never leave me." Jim spoke not in a question, but as a simple statement of truth, a truth he finally understood.

"Not as long as you needed me."

Blair started to separate himself, to pull out and away, but Jim just held on tighter, knowing that he was holding his lifeline, that this one, simple human male, held _him..._ and he had to make him understand.

"I was afraid. Do you understand, Blair? I was afraid of your dissertation. So frightened that it sometimes paralyzed me. Kept me from moving forward with you. And I couldn't accept that I could be that selfish. I hated your thesis. I let it get between us. Separating us, a wedge of words, sentences and paragraphs. And I hated myself for it... blamed my senses -- and blamed you."

Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The next part, could he say the next part? The hard part. It had to be said. Because it was the final truth. The blackest part of his heart, the evil that had driven him.

"Chief, God forgive me, but I wanted you to choose me over your thesis, over your career."

The air seemed to shimmer, sound evaporated, light dimmed, objects disappeared. There was only the feel of the warm body in his arms. Nothing else existed in that moment. Until...

"I did."

 

*****

Two words.

"I did."

Jim's eyes flew open to find himself staring into sapphire blue eyes. Sandburg was gazing back, no emotion visible -- just waiting.

"You -- what?"

"I did choose you."

Four words.

Jim started to shake his head in denial. No. It wasn't... he couldn't have.

"I've known since Peru that I could never publish. That the risk to you was too great. But I held on to it. Held on to the pretence of it. Partly in hope. Partly out of habit." He smiled slightly. "I kept hoping a miracle would happen, something that would allow me to publish; I even thought Alex might be that miracle. We both know how _that_ turned out... But mostly I held on... so that I... could -- stay. With you."

"Chief, what about the University? Your Doctorate? Your teaching?"

"I was suspended again. Weeks ago. Missed a deadline, accidentally on purpose. Another unauthorized absence. And, well, no thesis."

Ellison was stunned.

"How, I mean, if you haven't been at the University, and you haven't been at the station... shit, Sandburg."

Blair did pull away now. He carefully stood and limped over to the window. He noticed the light in his mother's room had gone out, and he was now aware of the full moon, which bathed the grounds in an ethereal silver light. When he finally answered Jim, it was as if from a great distance.

"I've been -- looking for a job. You didn't need me, I was almost out of money, hell, I didn't even have enough to move out. To leave you in peace. I'd actually been thinking of just packing everything up, piling it into my car and taking off. Just leave. I'm apparently very over-qualified for a job in Cascade. Then Naomi called. Not that this really changes anything. I'd already decided not to go back to Cascade."

The enormity of Blair's words, of what the last weeks and months must have been like for the anthropologist, the loss of a career, of a dream... pierced the detective like no bullet or knife could. God, had he _ever_ really known this man?

Sandburg faced Jim, a small, wry smile playing across his lips.

"Of course, now it would appear that money is no object."

Blair limped to the bathroom.

"Everything is okay now, Jim. No thesis hanging over your head, no albatross hanging around your neck. You're free."

The door behind him closed.

Free? No -- alone.

Everything he'd feared was happening. Because it had been easier to believe Sandburg would publish. Ellison could always deal with the obvious. But what he could never have imagined, could never have conceived, was such an act of love. For him.

And now -- it just -- was. Real. Tangible. Actual. A fact. Blair had indeed given up everything for Jim Ellison.

The bathroom door opened and Sandburg limped over to the closet and pulled down a couple of additional pillows and held them out to Ellison.

"I know you like extra pillows. If this isn't enough, I can get you more."

Ellison looked at the pillows as if they were foreign objects.

"I don't want to be free."

Blair stepped back, the pillows dropping with a soft _~wuff~_ on the floor at his feet.

He took several more steps back, finally stopping, a strange expression on his face.

"This isn't a divorce, Ellison. You're just losing an annoying roommate. A partner who was never a partner. No big deal."

"Why did you do it, Blair?"

"Do what?"

"Why - did - you - do - it?"

"God, you're an asshole."

Jim stood and stepped toward Blair.

"Why - did - you - do - it?"

"Why do you think? Jesus, Ellison, I jumped out of a fucking plane for Simon and Daryl, just what do you think I'd do for _you_?"

Something inside Jim Ellison unwound, let go, leaving him almost lightheaded. He smiled, and smiled even wider as confusion spread over Blair's face.

"You're right, Sandburg, this isn't a divorce. We'd have to be a couple before this could be a divorce. And we're not a couple -- yet."

He moved closer still, enjoying the 'deer caught in headlights' look that had replaced the confusion on his 'life partner's' face.

"You know, Chief, there's one thing I learned from my father... and that was how to graciously accept a gift. Thank you."

Confusion resettled on Blair.

"You're... welcome," he mumbled, his eyes seemingly mesmerized by a spot on the carpet.

Sentinel senses noted the increased heart rate, the rushing of Sandburg's blood. "Now there's nothing standing between us. Except that damn pre-nuptial agreement."

Blair's head shot up in surprise, and hope lit up his beautiful face. He made a tearing motion with his hands. "Consider it destroyed."

"Good, because I really like that bathroom."

He crossed the remaining space, slipped his arms around Sandburg's waist, gave a little experimental tug and when there was no resistance, he pulled the compact body into his.

 

*****

From across the grounds, Naomi stood at her front window. She'd been standing there since turning out the lights, watching her son and his partner. She hadn't really thought about the implications of her obfuscation, telling everyone that Jim was her son's lover. She'd assumed they'd handle it. Now she wasn't so sure. Maybe she'd made a mistake.

Their body language had been sending mixed signals. She'd expected them to talk, for Blair to fill the detective in on all the happenings, but as she'd watched, it seemed that things were tense, almost as if they were fighting. Then the body language had changed again, as if the discussion had gone into some forbidden territory.

She'd been surprised when her son almost fell and Ellison had grabbed him and held him, and at how close they sat, how Jim's arms remained around Blair.

And now, Blair, with his back to her and Jim standing over him... so close, both men looking all in the world like lovers, as if the next move would be... but that was impossible.

Stunned, she watched as her son's head tilted up, as the two men swayed toward each other, as Jim's arm made its way up Blair's back, as his hand came up and he gently ran his knuckle down her son's cheek, and Blair's hand cupped the back of Jim's head and brought it down...

Naomi Sandburg McMillan watched as her son kissed Jim Ellison. And Detective Jim Ellison kissed her son.

She watched, tears streaming down her face as the two bodies moved into each other, as the kiss went on and she cried for what she had lost and for what her son had found.

 

*****

Blair Sandburg was a healthy young man, with a very healthy libido. Waking up next to a beautiful, warm body had not been an unusual event in his life. Having the beautiful, warm body draped over his was not unusual either. What he wasn't used to, was waking up next to a _hard_ , beautiful, warm body. And _he_ was the drape-ee, not the drape-er.

As he climbed up from the depths of the best sleep he'd had in months, he found out just how comfortable a hard body could be. This 'draping' business was alright. No wonder women enjoyed it so much. And Jim's very hard body was surprisingly pliant and giving.

Jim's right arm was across his back while the detective's left hand was buried deep in hair, fingers wrapped around big hunks of the stuff. In fact, Blair found that he couldn't move his head, the Ellison grip was so tight. And damn, he didn't mind a bit.

He felt -- safe. Loved. Okay, not very macho, but what the hell, it felt damn good.

The fingers curled in his hair began to move and massage his scalp, so he lifted his head off his new chest pillow and looked into happy, sleepy blue eyes.

"Morning, Chief."

"Morning to you."

"Sleep well?"

"Umm."

"Warm enough?"

"Umm."

The fingers curled back around a handful of hair as Ellison's mouth moved to cover Sandburg's and the men shared their first wake-up kiss. Which rapidly turned into their first 'morning after sex'.

The night before had been fast and frantic, with too many pent-up emotions suddenly let loose... frantic sex by two exhausted men had left them sated but sleepy, and now, Jim was ready to go exploring, to learn every inch of the body he'd coveted for so long. And the way Sandburg's hands were roaming over his chest, he was obviously of the same mind set.

He let fingers travel gently over Blair's battered face, let his lips follow, lightly kissing each bruise.

"Is this a Sentinel's version of kissing it and making it better?"

"Umm, is it working?"

"Uh-huh."

Blair shifted his body and Ellison's very awake 'lower brain' bumped against Blair's equally awake brain and both men gave the same moan, followed by some very self-conscious laughter.

"I gotta tell you, Chief, I really approve of a naked Sandburg. So much so, that I'm seriously thinking of trying to find a nudist colony that needs a Sentinel."

Blair ducked his head and Jim realized that Sandburg was embarrassed. And now that he thought about it... had he ever seen Blair 'au natural'? Nope. T-shirts, shorts, sweats -- yes. Shirtless? Once, taping up ribs. Swim trunks? Nope. Shit, over three years and he'd never even seen the man in a towel. Yet Blair had seen him in every possible state of undress.

His right hand moved lovingly down the back, stopping just at the swell of Sandburg's perfect butt. He let his lips brush past an ear as he whispered, "Do you know what you do to me?" His hand then continued over the delicious curve, but a sudden shaking of the body in his arms, stalled any further exploration.

"Blair? Did I do something..."

Sandburg's face was buried in Jim's neck and the older man could feel it moving fast in the negative.

"I'm moving too fast? I -- embarrassed you? I mean, I know you've never been with a man before... and you're obviously shy about your body... but..."

Blair was practically convulsing now, and Sentinel hearing _finally_ realized it was laughter.

"Alright, Sandburg, let me in on the joke. I'm trying to be sensitive here."

One arm waved loosely in the air.

"Sandburg, this was a romantic moment. A sensitive, romantic moment. Laughter, _hysterical_ laughter tends to mute the mood."

"Sooorry."

"Care to explain?"

"Give _snigger_ me a... minute... so -- surreal."

"Surreal? Would that be my lovemaking techniques? Or -- us?"

Blair finally controlled his laughter, took some deep breaths, lifted his head and started snickering again at the expression of puzzlement and exasperation on Jim's face.

"I've spent all these years staying covered up, at work, on stakeouts, at home, all to avoid the inevitable comparisons of our... well, you know, our bodies. I mean, come on, Jim. Picture Oliver Hardy after a year on Weight Watchers and you have us... The Laurel and Hardy of Major Crimes. Shit, I look ridiculous next to you. And now I'm not only next to you, I'm on _top_ of you... and you're saying how you love me naked and man, it was just too, too..."

His hand went back to waving so Jim captured it and finished his sentence, "Too surreal?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, my body is fine for me, Hell, sometimes that's all anyone wanted, I mean, shit. I've always pictured you with tall, leggy women or big, tough, military types. So it's kinda weird, you ending up with me. Like the complete antithesis, you know?"

For Sandburg, that was a lot of information to escape all at once.

"That's funny, I've always pictured someone just like you."

Sandburg hooted and rolled his eyes. "Right, Jim. Maybe you've forgotten that little discussion we had about three months after I moved in? You'd just broken up with Earl Gaines?"

Blair tried to roll off Jim, but Ellison had other ideas and he re-wrapped his arms around the younger man. "Stay put, Chief. _I'm_ comfortable -- Now, what discussion?"

Sandburg settled himself and gave a little sigh. "After the first Major Crimes poker game I'd been invited to... we'd had a few too many, or rather, _you'd_ had a few too many. You were still depressed about Earl. I was trying to cheer you up and we started discussing our dream lovers, remember? And remember what you said?"

"Uh..."

"Let me refresh your memory. You were lying face down on the couch and I was sitting on the floor. You said, and I quote here, 'He's big, maybe even taller than me. And blond. With brown eyes. Crew-cut, freckles and... quiet.' Ring a bell?"

Blair's body had gone completely still, his voice so low, so -- so, small.

"... 'maybe in the military, or maybe a cop, like me.' That's what you said, Jim."

Sandburg was taking slow, uneven breaths and Jim felt his arms fall to his side as he _did_ remember and Blair slowly lifted himself up and dropped over onto his back.

"Man, I sure know how to kill a mood, don't I?" When Jim didn't answer, Blair got up and reached for his sweatpants... Jim's hand stalled his as his fingers closed on an arm.

"Jim, it's okay... you were talking about someone who existed, weren't you? Someone you loved."

"Blair, listen..."

"I said it's okay... I tend to _not be_ what people..."

"Blair, stop it. Do you remember who _you_ described?"

"Yeah, Jim, I do. I described you."

Jim's breath caught and was expelled along with the word, 'Fuck'. "Are you trying to tell me that you were in love with me back then?"

"Well, I had a pretty serious case of hero worship, but then when I got to know you, to know what a normal, average, anal retentive, repressed schmuck you really were, yeah, it turned into a pretty heavy case of love."

"God dammit, Sandburg! Do you have any idea how close I came that night? Do you?" Jim sat straight up and roughly pulled Blair into his arms. "Jesus, Blair. Do you have any notion of the amount of control I had to exercise? And I was drunk! Shit, all I wanted to do that night was rip off your clothes and fuck that incredible ass until you couldn't move, until you were so satisfied, so hooked, that you'd never look at another woman again. That you wouldn't be able to make it through the day without me."

"And the guy you described? Who was he?"

"Chief, you'd just hauled my drunken ass up three flights of stairs and dropped me on the couch. You were sitting there, cross-legged, your glasses slipping down your nose, your hair kept _wiffing_ past my face, I was watching God's gift to the lip world, wanting to fuck that mouth, I was ripping a hole in the crotch of my jeans, trying to plug the couch, and you wanted me to confess to my straight roommate that my dream lover was five-foot-seven, one-fifty pounds, twenty-five years old, long, curly hair, sky-blue eyes, an anthropologist? You just don't know... I was on the edge of losing all control."

Both men were quiet. But for Ellison, every muscle was tight, as he held his breath, waiting...

"You know what I think, Jim?"

"Wha-at?

"I think you _should_ fuck my brains out."

Every muscle relaxed, his lungs filled with air, and he decided he would live.

He opened up his senses, carefully turned them both over so he was above Blair, placed his hands on either side of Sandburg's head and captured that mouth, fucking it so gently, pouring every ounce of love and longing into it, trying to show Blair all the words he couldn't say... And Sandburg took it all, his body arching up, his thighs parting, words escaping as Jim finally let his mouth go and moved down Sandburg's neck, suckling on that beautiful Adam's apple, "now, Jim, now... please..."

Jim's hand fumbled on the nightstand, bumping into Blair's... fingers closed frantically on the tube that had gotten limited use the night before, Sandburg's hand closed over a square, foil packet, and Jim was mumbling, "It'll be so good, Blair, I'll make it so good..." as he warmed the cream... and his eyes fastened on Sandburg, who was pulling the packet open with his teeth, eyes wide and full of so much... love, passion and not a little mirth.

Jim reached for the condom, but Blair shook his head and keeping his eyes glued to Jim, he lowered his hands and in amazement, Ellison felt Blair rolling it on, and while it was obvious that Blair had never done this for any man, other than himself, and that Blair's hands were shaking ever so slightly, and his breaths were coming in short gasps, it was still the most erotic, sensual, sexually charged event in Jim Ellison's life.

"Oh, God, Blair."

Jim had to have that mouth and, as lips met again, Ellison pulled willing hips up and as lips, tongue and one hand aroused the man beneath him, the other hand readied him.

Surprised gasps were kissed away, tensed muscles were soothed, fingers stroking down hips, legs, caressing the inside of clenched thighs, other fingers moving in-out, the gasps changing to passionate, needy moans, body thrusting up hard, meeting each of Jim's thrusts and finally knowing that Blair was ready, entering him, actually moving _into_ Blair, holding on to his control, by the skin of his teeth, stopping, kissing, stroking, going deeper, watching that face, noting when uncertainty was replaced by surprise, when pain was replaced by pleasure, when passion and love merged, watching the strong, square jaw, clench and unclench, the corded neck, stretched back, vulnerable, Jim, taking advantage of the vulnerability, teeth latching on, sucking, and the wonder of feeling strong, muscled legs wrapping around him, of the man's powerful arms pulling on him, urgently needing to match each forceful thrust and Ellison knew he was home, that this man's body, his soul, was Jim's resting place.

There was so little sound, few words, just two, hard, sweating bodies, entwined, the larger so deeply entrenched in the smaller, that two bodies had to -- finally -- become one.

 

*****

The water was hot and pounded down on the two men as they stood under its force. Steam swirled up and around them, taking muscles already boneless and turning them into liquid.

Blair was discovering that sex with Jim Ellison was a great way to heal bruised flesh. Of course, the hot water and steam wasn't hurting either, and Jim's arms around him, supporting him, well, okay, that helped too.

He started grinning to himself and thinking that this 'being in love with a big cop' thing wasn't so bad at all, no, not at all. And his masculinity was completely intact, and doing just fine, thank you very much. And Jim's wasn't bad either.

A rumbling through his cheek told him the 'big cop thing' was talking so he bravely stepped away from the Jim-building he'd been leaning against and tried to concentrate on the words.

"I need to look at that saddle, Chief. You up to showing your _'lover'_ around your inheritance, so that we can conveniently end up in the tack room?"

It was astounding how quickly the world could intrude on a good thing.

"Damn. I'd actually forgotten. Hope you're sufficiently flattered knowing that you managed to drive the thought that someone is trying to kill me right out of my brain."

"Well, you did ask me to fuck... mmmph."

Later -- "Well, you did."

 

*****

It was almost noon before the two men made their way to the kitchen for a quick bite, with questions flying fast and furious. They were standing at the tile-covered kitchen island, munching on a couple of sandwiches, while Blair filled in any details he'd missed telling Jim the night before.

"How many employees actually live on the property, Chief?"

"Seven," and he began to reel them off, "Manny, of course, Luis, Maria, and four ranch hands."

"Luis?"

"Ranch foreman. And Maria is his wife, she does the cooking, and the four hands that live here are their sons. I think we can scratch them."

"Swell. So if I'm counting right, there are twelve people, including you and Naomi, who live here?"

"You should include Joe Reynolds. He's been staying here off and on, but since -- well, since Roger's death, he's been here every night. He... hovers."

Ellison peered over his coffee mug, "Hovers?"

"Well, yeah. Over Delia. He's smitten."

"Smitten? Do people still use that word, Chief?"

A glob of peanut butter landed on Ellison's chin.

"Um, I guess they do."

Jim was reaching up to wipe the offending goo away, when Blair stopped him. "I did it, I should be _forced_ to clean it up."

Sandburg was just tugging the chin into tongue range when a voice stopped him cold.

"Is there any coffee?" Delia McMillan walked in, going directly to the automatic coffee maker and groaning at its empty condition.

Jim expected Blair to quickly step back, all thoughts of 'peanut butter cleanup' gone by the wayside, but he was wrong. Sandburg just switched from his tongue to his finger. He stroked across Jim's chin, then with a truly wicked smile, popped the peanut-butter-laden finger into his own mouth.

Then the little shit had the gall to lick his lips. Jim barely managed to suppress his moan.

"So, Mr. Ellison, how does it feel to find yourself married to a very rich man?"

Blair answered _for_ Mr. Ellison. "Don't bother trying to get under Jim's very thick skin, Delia. And besides, we signed prenuptial agreements early in our relationship. You know, just in case one of us should inherit a ranch?" He faced his stepsister and smiled benignly. "Of course, Jim _tried_ to withhold his sexual favors last night, until I agreed to tear up the agreement, but _tried_ is the operative word."

Delia stopped her coffee making duties long enough to glare at her 'brother', her eyes narrowing.

Then Delia McMillan smiled. A genuine smile.

"You know, I didn't believe for a minute that you were lovers. Figured Naomi was just trying to hide the fact that you, Mr. Ellison, are a cop. Guess I was wrong. Although... you, Blair, definitely don't look like the kind of guy that would fall for a pig. Peace, love and all that crap."

"Well, he _is_ a violent sonofabitch, but damn, he's cute. Pretty good in bed too."

And all Jim Ellison could do was stand there, like an idiot, with peanut butter all over his face.

Delia gave Jim a long, appraising, head-to-toe look. "Nah, he's a pussycat. And you don't seem surprised that I know he's Detective Ellison, of Major Crimes."

"Not. Expect Joe Reynolds knows what kind of toilet paper I use. And what Joe knows, Delia knows."

"Charmin." She leaned back against the sink, arms crossed in front of her, looking smug. But the look soon faded in the face of an unflappable Blair Sandburg. "I was prepared to hate you, _brother_ , but... you're making it very difficult."

"Sorry, give me another chance. And personally, _I_ thought you were doing a fine job."

"Yeah, well, I've got a lot of people fooled." She pushed away from the sink and studiously turned her attention to making her coffee.

"Too bad you tried so hard to fool your father into believing you had no interest in this ranch."

Blair had finally struck oil. Delia whirled around, the coffee mug crashing to the floor. But all she saw, as she locked gazes with Blair, was the quiet, gentle blue eyes of her stepbrother.

She frowned, clearly confused by the man she so much wanted to dislike. She knelt down, in a futile attempt to hide her bewilderment, and began picking up the pieces of the shattered cup. Instantly, two other pairs of hands were helping.

The three people didn't speak as the pieces of glass were picked up, swept up and thrown away. Then, while Blair guided Delia over to the kitchen table, Jim got out another mug, filled it and set it in front of the woman.

"How did you know?" she whispered.

Blair leaned in toward Delia. "I'm an observer, Delia. It's what I do. You know every inch of a ranch you supposedly hate. You know every ranch hand, and since my arrival, I've noticed that whenever Manny or Luis have a question, they go to you. You love this place."

Delia looked down at her coffee, twirling the cup in her hands. "Why do you suppose Manny and Luis know how I feel about this ranch, but my own father couldn't see it? He could never see past the part of my being a woman."

Sandburg sat back, his own face clouding over. "Delia, if I understood parents, I'd have written a book by now and I'd be the most famous man in the world."

Delia caught the expression on Blair's face and her own softened. "If it helps, I wish now that... you'd been told... I mean..."

Blair quickly pushed back his chair and rose stiffly. "It's okay, Delia." He looked over at Jim, almost pleading with him to get up.

Jim stood quickly, seeing that Blair was starting to shut down again. "I think you promised me a tour this morning, Chief?"

"Yeah, I did." He put a hand on Delia's back. "We'll talk later?"

She nodded and as they walked out, she couldn't resist adding, "You know, you two are so cute together."

Jim _~harumph~_ ed as Blair looked back and shared a smile with his sister.

 

*****

It was slow and go as the two men made their way to the stables. Blair was still moving stiffly and not talking.

Jim decided that it was time to get Sandburg's mind _back_ on the business of finding out who might be trying to kill him. "Pretty insightful observation about Delia, Chief. Any others you'd care to share with this detective?"

"No."

"Blair, we need to..."

"Not now."

A stubborn Sandburg was infinitely worse than a quiet Sandburg. Especially since in this case, both could get him killed.

Blair was slightly ahead of the larger man so Jim reached out and snagged the top of Sandburg's jeans.

"Yes, Chief, now. In case you haven't noticed, we just connected on a whole new level. Added a new dimension to our relationship. To the partnership. And I have no intention of losing my _'life partner'_ , capiche?"

Blair stopped, his body tensing. Jim heard him take several deep, cleansing, centering breaths before facing his partner.

"I'm sorry. What do you want to know?"

"Let's start with why you haven't asked Naomi about her _'forgetting'_ to mention her marriage? Or neglecting to invite her son? Shall we start there?"

"There's no point in asking, Jim. I'll get the same answer I always get. 'Honey, I wasn't thinking'."

Jim didn't know if Blair would be comfortable with what he was about to do... but he did it anyway. He hugged him. Hard. "I have to tell you, Chief, I really want to strangle her sometimes."

They stood like that for several seconds, Blair so still and quiet that Ellison began to worry all over again.

"I think Matt's wife and Roger's male nurse were getting it on," Blair mumbled into Jim's shoulder.

"Interesting thought. Care to elaborate?"

"Just the way he looked at her. Or maybe the way she _didn't_ look at him. And why is he still hanging around?"

"Is he?"

"Yeah. He was here for the will, but wasn't mentioned. And he's the one who called the doctor after my riding mishap."

"Love your choice of words -- 'mishap'. Speaking of which, let's get a look at that saddle."

They reluctantly separated. And just as Sandburg was getting used to the idea of Jim Ellison hugging.

The tack room was located at the far end of the stable area, behind the ranch offices. It was combined with the building that was used to quarantine animals. Inside, it was at least twenty degrees cooler than the outside temperature, which had climbed to over a hundred.

Blair pointed out the saddle and watched in his 'scientist mode' as Jim did his 'Sentinel thing', running sensitive fingers over the edges of the cinch, smelling it, checking all parts of the saddle.

"This was no boating accident, Chief."

"Jaws. Richard Dreyfuss to Roy Scheider. And I guess someone really is trying to kill me."

"And they're good too. I doubt that Forensics would have caught this. They used a needle of some sort, repeatedly puncturing the material, weakening it to the point that any riding, any pressure, would eventually cause it to give way. Which it did."

Blair gingerly rubbed his injured hip, "Man, I really hate this. Granted, I've only known these people for a few days, but the idea that any of them would..."

"Want to take out a cute guy like you?"

"Damn, but you're romantic."

"Yep. So tell me more about the rest of this loving gang."

Jim spent the next twenty minutes listening in amazement as Sandburg rattled off thoughts, ideas and observations about the people he'd been living with for over a week. And Ellison was once again reminded how much his partner _did_ see, and how often his conclusions about people were spot on.

When Blair finally wound down, he gave Jim a few seconds to assimilate the information before asking the obvious question.

"So what's next?"

"I'm going to make some calls, find out what the financial status is of our folks and you're going to our room and rest."

"Gee, is that an order, Oh, Captain, my Captain?"

"That's Oh, Detective, my Detective, to you, Chief. And yes, as the senior partner in this relationship, it's an order."

"Well, you got the _'senior'_ part right, anyway."

 

*****

At 3:30, Jim hung up the phone for the last time and leaned back in the soft, leather chair. He'd finally got Sandburg 'tucked in' a few hours earlier, in spite of the grumblings about pushy Sentinel lovers, and then set himself up in what Sandburg had said was Roger McMillan's office.

Originally, Ellison had planned to make the calls from their room. But then he'd discovered that a tired, grumpy Sandburg, clumsily trying to climb out of his jeans, was also a very sexy Sandburg. The office became his only sane choice.

Now he sat and contemplated everything he'd learned, thanks to assistance from a now-worried Simon.

There was motive, certainly. Opportunity, undoubtedly, but the method? Who had the expertise to pull off that stunt with the cinch? And if the cinch was any indication, the sabotage done on the car had to have been as well hidden.

He checked his watch, pushed himself out of the chair and headed back to their room, where he found Naomi, curled up in one of the chairs, chin propped up on one hand and gazing at her sleeping son.

"Where's Manny?" he whispered.

Naomi gracefully unfolded herself, placed a finger over her lips and motioned that they should step outside. She pulled the slider open and moved out, Jim following.

Once out of range, "I sent Manny away, Jim. There was a problem down at the north pasture."

"Everything alright?"

"No, I'm scared. Nervous, and all I want to do is run away. No, things are not alright."

They took seats around one of the patio tables, but in full view of the sleeping target. All Jim's senses were on full alert.

"So go. I'll take care of things here. Blair's safe."

Anger flashed in her eyes, "You think I'd leave now? With someone trying to kill my son?"

"Yes."

She sat back hard, as if all the breath had been knocked out of her. "My God, Jim. What have I ever done to make you believe such a thing?"

"Where should I start? With your not thinking to call your beloved son and tell him about Roger? Or not inviting your much-loved son to the wedding? Did you consider that he might like to meet the man _you_ made his stepfather? Did you ever think that he might want to share in your fucking life? In your happiness? Naomi, did you think at all?"

Jim paused long enough to let his words sink in, then fired the other barrel. "Did you notice the weight loss? The dark circles under his eyes? Did you once ask him how _he_ was doing? How _he_ was feeling? Or what was going on in his life? No, Naomi, I wouldn't be surprised if you up and took off. It's your pattern where Blair is concerned."

"Jim -- stop it."

Naomi and Jim whirled in their seats at the sound of Blair's voice. Jim was up instantly and at Sandburg's side.

"I'm sorry, Chief. I was... out of line."

But Blair was watching his mother, uncertainty and fear in every line of his body.

Naomi was hurt and stunned by Jim's words, but looking at her son now, seeing the fear in his eyes, the confusion that was etched on his face, she felt so much emotion rise up, so much shame and so much... love.

"Oh, God, Blair," she murmured.

Ellison looked from son to mother and back again. "I'll leave you two alone. And Naomi? I am sorry, I had no right. And I was speaking as much about myself as you."

He started to move away, back to the house, but Blair stopped him. "Stay, please."

Before Jim could refuse, Naomi added, "Yes, Jim, please stay."

 

*****

A breeze had sprung up as the sun began to dip below the mountains, and it caught Sandburg's hair, weaving through it and cooling the young man.

He and Jim sat with his mother back at the patio table. The mood was anything but relaxed.

Blair had awakened earlier to the sound of an angry Jim and had gotten up in time to hear most of the detective's tirade directed at Naomi. And he'd been astounded by his own reaction -- fear. An old childhood holdover. The fear that if he did something wrong, his mother would leave again, and maybe for good.

And here he was, a grown man, almost thirty, and he was still afraid. Afraid they'd _both_ leave him, that neither his mother nor Jim needed him and that if he blew this, if they got mad at him, he'd be alone. It was foolish. Unrealistic. But -- it was there.

Which was when Jim Ellison took his hand.

Their fingers interlocked and, as Blair's gaze connected with Jim's, he saw only love, infinite and unconditional. This man would never leave him. He knew this now as surely as he knew that he would never leave Jim.

Naomi had been watching her son, watching all the emotions play across his beautiful face, noticed how he quieted when Jim took his hand, recognized the peace settle over him and felt a stab of pain at what she had lost with Roger's death and of what she could still lose -- her son. Blair.

"Jim was right, honey. I didn't think. I never do and I hurt you." At Blair's attempt to interrupt, she held up one hand, "Let me finish, sweetheart. I have no excuse. None. Except that as always, I believed I had all the time in the world. I believed you would simply accept any action I took. And Roger and I thought we had so much time... so much time."

"Mom, please. It's really alright."

"Roger did want to meet you. He never got tired of my talking about you... Blair this, Blair that... I'm sure that's why he left the ranch to you... he knew from everything I'd told him, that you would share his vision, would protect this land."

Her eyes pooled with unshed tears and she quickly blinked them back before they could spill over.

"Blair, I don't know if I can explain... I never wanted you to rely... on someone else for your happiness, I wanted you to be self-sufficient, self-contained. I didn't want you to go through what I did, to be hurt as I was... so I decided that loving a child with open arms, with... separate lives, was the only way to protect you. But I only hurt you. And I understood too late that self-sufficient is good, but self-contained just leaves you lonely."

She finally looked at her son, knowing she would find recrimination, maybe even hate, but found only understanding and love in the pale blue depths.

"Not too late, Mom. You had ten months with Roger. No, not too late."

"And I still have a lifetime with my son, although," and she looked mischievously over at Jim, "now may not be the best time to decide to be the perfect mother... or the perfect mother-in-law."

It was at that moment that Jim lifted his head up sharply and began to sniff the air.

"We have a fire."

He rose, pushing back the chair so hard that it tipped over. Blair looked up in concern as Naomi looked over at her son in bewilderment.

"I don't smell anything. Honey, what's Jim talking about?

Before Blair could answer her, Jim addressed himself to his partner. "It's the stables. Chief, you stay put. Naomi, you might want to call nine-one-one."

She looked from one to the other, then quickly went inside to make the call.

Jim moved out but hadn't gotten very far when he realized Sandburg was right behind him. "The concept of _'stay put'_ has always seemed to elude you, Chief."

Sandburg pressed his hand against Jim's back and pushed. "And you never captured the concept of _'backup'_ , now move."

 

*****

By the time they got down to the compound, smoke was pouring out of the main building, men were frantically hustling frightened animals out of stalls, while others were hooking up hoses and still others were moving inside with fire extinguishers.

Blair was about to pitch in and help when he realized he'd lost his Sentinel. He did a quick recon and caught a glimpse of the detective, running toward the tack room.

Blair had just started after him at his best speed when Jim disappeared inside.

 

*****

Ellison had been working at adjusting his senses when they'd arrived at the stables, trying to filter through the sound of panicked livestock, men yelling, the smoke and fumes, the chemical fire extinguishers... but now in the coolness of the tack room, with the receding sounds of men putting out the fire, he was able to stop, take a few precious moments and refocus his senses.

There.

A single heartbeat.

It was coming from one of the quarantine stalls, just past the doorway.

Jim pulled his gun, and with well-practiced stealth, began to move carefully forward...

A shuffling and a muffled curse, told the Sentinel the person was on the move. The lighting in the quarantine area was muted, but Ellison had no problem seeing through the dimness, filtering out harmless shadows and trying to pinpoint his adversary.

What he couldn't have counted on was an innocent bottle of ammonia, harmless of itself, a cap carelessly left askew.

Jim entered the stall area, having pinpointed the heartbeat as being two stalls down.

Two things happened simultaneously.

Sandburg entered the building and the body in the second stall accidentally kicked over the bottle of ammonia.

The pungent odor hit Ellison like a ton of bricks. He stumbled back, moaning, and the body lunged out of the stall, pitchfork in his hands and moved fast toward the now nearly incapacitated Sentinel.

Somehow Ellison managed to keep track of the heartbeat in front of him and, through tear-filled eyes, he just made out the form rushing toward him. He brought up his gun but the figure was ready. He took a swing with the blunt end of the pitchfork and caught the gun before Ellison could fire. The gun was dislodged and flew up into the air.

Sandburg saw the pitchfork connect with Jim's hand, saw the gun spiraling down, looked in horror as the pitchfork was shifted in strong hands and watched, helpless as, in slow motion, the tines began their descent on a vulnerable Ellison.

Blair threw his body forward, hands outstretched and caught the gun. As his body landed hard on the dirt floor, he yelled, "FREEZE!"

Frank Parker, Roger's male nurse, ignored the command and continued with his intent to kill.

Blair took aim and fired.

The bullet pinged against the metal and the pitchfork was jerked out of Parker's hands. The nurse froze at this sudden turn of events and, with the immediate danger to his Sentinel gone, Blair scrambled up into a crouch and launched himself into Parker.

He connected with the nurse's solar plexus with a very satisfying _woof_ and they both were hurled backward, crashing into one of the wooden stalls.

Parker's head snapped back with a resounding _~thwack~_ and both men slid to the ground.

 

*****

Sandburg shook his head, clearing it, pushed himself off Parker's prone body, flopped over on his back and for a few seconds tried to get his breath back. But the ammonia was starting to get to him, which in turn reminded him of Jim. He crawled over to his Sentinel, who was trying desperately to drag in air...

"I've got you, Jim, I've got you."

He started to haul himself to his knees, to help Jim up, when a voice from behind stopped him.

"Don't move."

It was Kate McMillan. And she had Jim's gun in her hand.

"Damn."

"You could say that, Mr. Sandburg. You have proven yourself very difficult to kill, but I'm about to remedy that. Of course, now I'll have to kill Mr. Ellison here too, or should I say, _Detective_ Ellison?"

Blair was hurting, his Sentinel was hurting and he was in no mood for any more games. Kate and her lover had tried to kill him twice, and now Jim was being hurt. Enough was enough. His hand, which was hidden between his body and Jim's, closed around a big chunk of dirt, straw and manure. Fitting, he thought. He turned slowly on his knees to face his executioner, his fingers tightening around his only weapon. "Kate..." and he threw the debris right into her face.

The manure hit her in the eyes and she screamed, throwing up her hands, and once again Blair launched himself up. He had the gun wrestled from her fingers in seconds, but her hands and sharp nails raked at him, drawing blood. They struggled for a few moments, but Blair took a deep breath and, like he'd been forced to do a couple of times before in his 'career' with Jim, he balled up his fist and punched her lights out. She dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Blair went back to Jim, put his arms around the bigger man and started to pull him up.

"Cuff... cuffs... Chief..." Jim gasped out.

"Right. Cuffs."

Except -- no cuffs. This wasn't Cascade. And while Detective Jim Ellison had shown up in Taos with gun, badge and lube, he had no cuffs. Sandburg looked around, frantically searching... his eyes finally landing on strips of leather hanging by the tack room door.

Moments later, with Parker and Kate trussed up like turkeys and Jim's gun holstered, Blair was dragging the big man out into the fresh air.

Water. He needed water. He had to get Jim's eyes rinsed. Now.

Jim was taking in huge gulps of fresh air, hands rubbing at his eyes. Blair reached up and pulled the hands down. "No, Jim, don't rub. Use the dial, man, come on, you can do this... dial it down, focus on _one_ outside sense... I'll get some water, listen to me, Jim."

Ellison let the 'voice' soothe, choosing _it_ as his outside focus. Letting it wash over him, move 'inside' him, around him, grounding him and centering him. Finally, he saw the dial and did what the 'voice' instructed. He turned it down.

Blair had spotted a hose on the side of the office building and was pulling it over to Ellison.

"Okay, I've got a hose here, Jim. I'm gonna turn it on, and we're gonna wet your head, and then rinse out your eyes -- you ready?"

"Ready."

Blair let the water run over the detective's head... "Now, prepare yourself for opening your eyes, for the light, and some pain... you have the dial down?"

At Jim's nod, Blair instructed him to let his eyes open and he began the gentle process of washing out the burning eyes, holding Jim's head and keeping up a steady stream of soft words.

 

*****

The fire department arrived rather anti-climatically, what with the fire already in the cleanup stages. There was little damage and no injuries.

Manny had spotted Blair and Jim on the ground and rushed over, only to be instructed by Blair to call the police and that Kate and Parker were tied up in the tack room. Blair would have given a pretty penny to have had a camera with which to capture the expression on Manny's face.

Now, an hour later, the Taos Sheriff's Department had read rights to Parker and Kate, Parker yelling that it had been all Kate's idea and Kate yelling that Parker had seduced her and that he'd tried to kill Blair without her knowledge... and then they were both hauled out to a waiting squad car.

Jim came back into the family room, after following Sheriff Nelson out with Parker and Kate. He'd filled the Taos Sheriff in on all the information he'd gathered earlier in the day, and the supposition that the fire had been a diversionary tactic, so that Parker could destroy the saddle.

Delia sat on one of the couches, Manny next to her, and watched her brother. Matt was sitting at the bar, as usual, and had already consumed several gin and tonics. Naomi sat on the other couch, Blair next to her and she kept running one hand up and down Blair's arm, as if reassuring herself that he was really there.

Jim walked over to where Blair and Naomi sat and perched on the edge of the couch as Delia got up and walked over to her brother.

"Matt? Honey? Please? Let me get you to bed."

He waved her off and got unsteadily to his feet, looking around the room, stopping when his eyes lit on Blair. "NO! THIS IS ALL WRONG. KATE DIDN'T **_DO_** ANY OF THIS! YOU'RE ALL WRONG!"

Face flushed with anger, he staggered toward Blair. "Why would any of you listen to _him_? A complete stranger? A... a nobody? This is my wife you're all talking about, this is Kate, for crissake's! And he's -- he's nothing, my God, even his own mother wouldn't have him at the wedding!"

He lurched closer, and Jim immediately stood, ready to intercept the man, but Delia beat him to it.

"No, Matt, no. You know that's not true... you don't really mean any of this... you're hurt, and you've had too much to drink. Let me take you to your room, we'll work on this, I promise. Everything will be okay, it will."

He looked at his sister and tears filled his eyes. "Dee? We've lost everything... everything."

"No, honey, we haven't. We have each other, I'm still your sister, I'm here..." She took his arm, motioned for Manny to help her, and together they walked Matt out of the room, but not before she glanced back at Blair and gave him a small smile.

For a few moments, Naomi, Blair and Jim enjoyed the silence. But finally, Naomi broke the quiet.

"Blair? Are you... okay, with this?"

"I'm fine, Mom. They were just words. From a hurt, angry and frightened man."

Naomi stood up, "Well, I think I'll see what's cooking in the kitchen, make myself useful."

Once Naomi left, Jim slid down beside Blair.

"So."

"So."

"Eyes okay?"

"Fine. Thanks to you. _I'm_ fine, thanks to you."

"Yeah, well, that's what partners do."

"Yeah, they don't stay put."

"Nope, they back up their partners."

"Good shooting, by the way."

"Uh, not really. I was aiming for a kneecap."

"Shit, Sandburg. You're going to have to let me teach you to shoot."

"Okay."

Ellison looked sharply at Blair and saw that he was serious. He cocked his head, then smiled and nodded.

"Good. Can't have a partner that can't hit the broadside of a barn."

They were quiet again, enjoying the moment, enjoying the company. But finally Sandburg reached the limit of his 'still and quiet' capabilities.

"Why did Kate do it?"

"Money, Chief, money. Matt was out of it. Simple. She probably seduced Parker, convinced him that with you gone, the ranch would revert to Delia and Matt and that with its sale, well, money would be no object."

"Delia wouldn't sell. Kate didn't know her very well, did she?"

"No. It looks like you and I aren't the only ones who have trouble communicating, huh?" He received a sharp poke in the ribs for _that_ remark. "I'd really like to go home. Tonight."

"Chief, I'd like nothing better myself, but what about the ranch?"

Blair was kept from answering by the entrance of Delia and Manny.

"Blair, I'm so sorry about what Matt said. He didn't mean it, you know."

"I know, and it's okay. Delia, do you have a dollar?"

The woman looked at him as if he'd lost his marbles. Jim looked at him as if he'd thrown his marbles away.

"Yeeesss."

"Good, get it out."

Frowning, she complied, pulling a dollar out of a pocket and holding it out.

Blair got up, went over, took the dollar out of Delia's hand and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Good, you just bought the ranch from me. It's yours for the bargain price of one dollar. And don't argue. You and I both know this is right, that the ranch _now_ belongs to the person Roger McMillan would have wanted to have it."

She looked at the man standing above her. Her -- brother.

"Thank you, Blair." She stood and wrapped her arms around him and they stayed like that, brother and sister, hugging.

 

*****

**Epilogue**

Selling the ranch to Delia for the bargain price of one dollar still entailed paperwork, so Blair didn't get his wish of going home until late the next day. It had been decided that Naomi would not return with them to Cascade, that she would continue on as planned, to Sri Lanka. But she made it very clear that she was doing this as a good mother-in-law.

It was after five PM when Jim and Blair finally opened the door to #307 at 852 Prospect Avenue

"Does it look different to you, Jim?"

Ellison was dropping their bags on the floor when Blair spoke. He looked around, wondering what Blair was talking about. And then he figured it out.

"Yeah, it does. Our home."

They stood for a moment, gazing around them and finally looking at each other.

"Look, I've got a couple of calls to make, gotta let Simon know his best detective team is back, why don't you take that shower you've been talking about?"

That was not the direction Blair's thoughts had been headed, but hey, he was just glad to be home, and maybe, after the phone calls, he could convince Jim to join him in the shower. He nodded his acceptance of the plan and headed into his room, grabbed fresh clothes and then walked back to the bathroom. Jim was already on the phone, talking to Simon.

A half hour later, Blair was standing under cold water and cursing his Sentinel. Okay, no romantic shower. He could deal. He turned off the water, climbed out and started to towel himself dry. Quickly changing into his oldest sweats, he wrapped a towel around his neck and started to dry his hair as he walked out into the living room. He was surprised to find Jim still on the phone with Simon.

"You're sure? It's all set?" then, "Great, yeah, Sandburg and I will be in bright and early. Say goodnight Simon." Jim chuckled as Simon must have parroted Jim's last remark. He cradled the phone and turned to his life.

"Hey, let me help with that." He grabbed the towel and started to massage the wet hair.

"Ummm... what's all set?"

"A case closed while we were gone. Megan did the paperwork for me."

"Sounds like she _solved_ the case for you..."

The towel was snatched off the wet head, twirled and flung out.

"OW!"

"Don't mess with me, Sandburg."

"Oh, but messing with you is exactly what I had planned.. care to take this discussion upstairs?"

"You're on."

Both men took off, Jim just edging out Sandburg at the final step.

As Blair reached the top, Jim grabbed him and stumbled to the bed, letting gravity pull them both down. Jim's hands started pulling up on the t-shirt, Blair's hands doing the same with Jim's shirt... the t-shirt was tossed behind Ellison, to land with his own shirt on the floor.

Seconds later and both men were naked, Jim between Blair's legs, arms wrapped securely around his lover.

"God, I love your chest." Sentinel hands were moving through the soft, curling, chest hair, "My own teddy bear..." he murmured.

"TEDDY BEAR? Did you just say, TEDDY BEAR?"

Ellison froze.

"Oh, man, you are in so much trouble..."

Jim bolted up, scrambled off the bed, looked around for anything with which to defend himself, and when he could find nothing, he did what a good cop does... he retreated.

Bounding down the stairs, Blair close on his heels, he skidded into the kitchen. And the first thing he saw was a jar of peanut butter. And a large wooden spoon. His eyes narrowed in delight.

"Jim, so help me... teddy bear?"

"Uh, Jim? What are you doing?"

Ellison had the peanut butter open, and the spoon was now heaped with the sticky protein.

The two men stared each other down. Eyes squinting, lips curved in evil grins.

"You know, Jim, I just happen to have some Hershey's chocolate bars in my old room... if we melted them down... you'd have a chocolate peanut butter covered teddy bear."

 

*****

Getting chocolate _and_ peanut butter out of chest hair and long curls proved to be more difficult than Sentinel and Guide expected, so they were quite late getting to Major Crimes the next morning. A fact that didn't escape Captain Simon Banks.

"ELLISON, SANDBURG, MY OFFICE -- NOW!"

"Gosh, I missed that," Blair sniggered.

"Chief..."

Ellison and Sandburg took their usual places in Bank's office.

"Gentlemen, we have a problem."

Jim answered for both of them. "Sir?"

"A change of status... for Sandburg."

Blair swallowed the huge lump that had formed. This couldn't be happening, not now. "I'm losing my observer status?"

"In a way. The Commissioner has instructed that you be hired, effective immediately, as our official consultant and partnered with Jim."

"What? But, but... Jim? Is this real?"

Before Jim could answer, Simon continued.

"Don't get too excited, Sandburg. There are a couple of conditions. One, you have to complete that course at the Academy you never quite got around to... and two, you have to go back to school, get your degree in Psychology. Any problems with that?"

"I, uh, no... no problems... Jim? You knew? This is what you were talking about last night?"

"Yeah, Chief. This is okay, isn't it?"

"I, yeah, this is very okay... I don't know what to say... except... I don't have to cut my hair, do I?"

The End

 

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.

This story archived at <http://asr3.slashzone.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1245>


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